


The Narcissus Effect

by foolish_mortal



Category: Sons of Liberty (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sugar Daddy, Suit Kink, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3369986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolish_mortal/pseuds/foolish_mortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Adams and John Hancock are America's youngest pioneers in green energy. Sam agrees to be John's plus one for an upscale corporate party, and John buys him a suit for the occasion. John can't resist. Part of the Clean Energy AU verse. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Narcissus Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Because I figured, what classier introduction to the fandom than to write a PWP fic.
> 
>  **For the prompt:** "John teaching Sam how to dress for some event, this is the first time John has ever seen Sam in a complete suit, and Sam may or may not love the image of them in front of their full length mirror. Lets just say, they are a little late to the party."
> 
> A fic for the [Clean Energy verse.](http://deftmegalodon.tumblr.com/post/109597759328/hadams-modern-au-an-american-revolution-in)
> 
> I integrated this with my own headcanon that John totally bought Sam the suit that he wears at the end of SoL episode three. That is the only sensible explanation for John's lingering "that is a fiiine suit, Mr. Adams," okay, fight me.
> 
> Also included the fanon that Hadams's pet names for each other are Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock, b/c why not.

John insisted it was just a dinner party, but Sam knew better. All of the giants of American corporate didn't just get together and rent out the Smithsonian Natural History Museum for the evening because they were feeling peckish, especially not when John was listed as the guest of honor.

"It's just a small get-together," John insisted. "Old drinking buddies, friends."

"You go drinking with Michael Bloomberg?" Sam demanded, dismayed. And somehow between arguing over metropolitan policies on climate change and the fourth glass of wine, Sam agreed to be John's plus one.

John bought him two suits for the occasion– a traditional tuxedo and a beautiful chestnut brown three piece. Both of them must have been absurdly expensive, but John waved away Sam's protests and signed the receipt in his customary loopy scrawl without even looking at the price, while his tailor hovered in the background looking pleased at acquiring another customer.

John had a _tailor_ , Sam thought with fond despair as he pulled both suits from his hotel closet where they had been hanging wrapped in clear plastic. John's cheerful spending habits had long since drained Sam's fathomless reservoir of resentment, especially since most of John's wealth was depleted now to invest in their joint green energy venture. John assured him that he would make back his expenditures, and any money left un-recouped was still money well spent, and Sam could have hated him for it if not for John's quiet irrepressible passion for their work.

Sam crossed barefoot across the divider between their hotel rooms into John's suite and found him sitting at the desk reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal and sipping coffee. He was still in his work shirt, his glossy leather messenger bag and laptop case abandoned on the floor next to him.

Sam stole a long swallow of John's coffee and made a face at the slurry of cream and sugar. "Ugh. You could stand a spoon in that."

"Hasn’t ever stopped you from stealing it." John looked up and scrutinized Sam's t-shirt and boxers. "You're not dressed."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to wear." Sam held up one hanger to his shoulders and then the other for John's scrutiny, guiltily relishing the press of John's eyes raking up and down his body.

"That one," John decided, pointing to the three piece, and Sam was relieved he wouldn't have to wrestle himself into the tuxedo. "Use my room, I have a full mirror. I can get dressed in the bathroom."

The dry cleaning plastic crumpled in Sam's arms like a sigh. "I can't believe you talked me into this," he complained.

"See it as an investment for future invitations." John grinned at Sam's distaste. "We're a team, Sam. I won't leave you behind."

"They'll eat you alive, you know." Sam leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. "All those big oil companies you turned your back on when you threw in your lot with me."

"I hardly think I’m the main course at tonight's dinner." John set aside the newspaper. His eyes, when he met Sam's, were startlingly direct. "I don't care who I turned my back on – as long as you have mine."

And that was even worse than Sam's little infatuation – John's faith in him, his irrevocable conviction and confidence. Sam swallowed. "You know that I do."

John nodded once. He was smiling. "I’m glad to hear it, Sam." He leaned over to retrieve his shoulder bag and unzipped it. "I have some things for you," he continued briskly and tossed him a plastic shopping bag. "Whatever you might have forgotten. Socks, handkerchief, tie, underwear. I tried to find what you would like."

" _Underwear_?" Sam combed through the bag and found a thin cardboard package of dark boxer briefs. He plucked it out and waved it in John's face. "What the hell is this?"

John pursed his lips. "You can't wear boxers underneath those slacks, honestly."

"John." Sam laughed. "You can't just keep buying me things."

John frowned. "Why not?"

"Why no–" Sam sputtered. "For fuck's sake, I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

"Your current choice of dress would beg to differ." John flicked a critical thumb up and down Sam's boxers, which were gaping at one side where the elastic had unraveled.

Sam moved his arm to cover the tear. "Not all of us can afford couture underpants."

John smiled serenely, knowing that he'd won. The bastard. "Put on your clothes, Sam."

 

Sam ignored the tall full-length mirror in the corner of John's bedroom as he shucked off his clothes. After a moment's hesitation, he also exchanged his underwear for the boxer briefs. They fit him snuggly in the groin and thighs and preserved the smooth line of his leg when he pulled on his trousers and tucked in his dress shirt. Sam hated when John was right.

Sam didn't know the first thing about men's formal wear, but according to John's tailor, the old fashioned cut of the suit looked good on him, classic enough to mature him but tailored to his body in sleek modern lines. It did look nice, Sam had to admit, no matter what the reason.

John had been raised in this world, thrived on shaking hands and exchanging favors and politicking among America's elite. He looked just as comfortable and controlled in a t-shirt as a power suit, a far cry from Sam, who looked like he belonged in a lineup on the best of days.

In this suit though, Sam mused with a touch of pride, he had a chance of preserving John's respectability for an evening. His back involuntarily snapped a little straighter as he pulled on the jacket and adjusted the lapels.

A soft knock on the door. "How does it look?" John asked, venturing in, and then stopped in his tracks. His mouth opened and closed, as if he were stuck on a word.

"That terrible?" Sam joked badly, overwhelmed. John was gorgeous in navy blue, clean-cut and conservative and effortlessly suave. Sam felt like a fool beside him.

John's throat bobbed once, twice as he took Sam in. "No," he said quietly. "No, it…mm, it suits you."

"I hope I've put it on right. Wouldn't want to cause an international incident."

John finally stepped all the way inside and shut the door behind him. Sam just stopped himself from flinching when John reached for his waistcoat. "Always keep the last one unbuttoned," John instructed and undid it for him. "Up."

Sam was confused until John spread his own arms out to demonstrate, and Sam did the same. John fussed over his cuffs, his warm touch light and ticklish on the soft underside of Sam's wrists. Sam used the opportunity to study John's face, alight on his furrowed eyebrows, his pink mouth and clean-shaven cheeks.

John had never looked at him this way before, a mixture of shock and trepidation, as if he didn't know what to do with Sam. It was thrilling. Sam kept stock still as John circled around to tuck his shirt more cleanly into the trousers, checked the crisp fold of his collar, and tweaked the pocket square.

John finally stepped back to observe his handiwork. "Perfect," he murmured.

Sam's throat clicked as he swallowed. John's cologne was rising to his head like strong wine. Suddenly, he felt stupid, reckless. He wanted John to touch him again, lay hands on him with intent and single-minded attention. "My tie," he started.

"I'll fix it," John promised before Sam could come up with an excuse, and the whisper of silk around his throat sent cool shivers down his spine as John undid the lopsided knot.

"Half Windsor," John decided and looped the cloth around and then up. "Don't want to upstage you."

Sam raised his chin as John pushed the knot close to his throat and smoothed the collar over it. He touched the perfect silk square and then gave John a weak smile. "I feel like a car on an assembly line."

"You look like a _dream_." John's voice ached with some unnamed emotion, too proud to be jealousy, with a curious tinge of melancholy. "Have you even looked at yourself?"

Sam shook his head even as John steered him towards the mirror in the corner. "No one's coming to see me, John."

" _Look_ ," John commanded, and Sam couldn't help meeting his eyes in their reflection. They made a handsome pair, their faces side by side and John's hands on his shoulders. Sam barely recognized himself. He looked like he belonged in John's world, equaled him, completed him. He didn't look like John's business partner—he looked like his date.

John ran the flat of his hands slowly down the tapered lines of Sam's torso in a quiet _shh-shh_ of fabric. Sam didn't dare breathe. John repeated the gesture back up, smoothing out the wrinkles. "It's very fine suit, Mr. Adams," he murmured, and his low appreciative timbre was more intimate than a caress.

And for the first time in his life, Sam understood what it felt like to be coveted, to be one of John's fine things, to be possessed. His body flared with heat, and he couldn't help the ragged gasp that broke from him.

Behind him, John's face froze in a mask of horror and shame. He took a step back. "Oh, I didn't mean to…I'm so sorry."

John was tearing himself away—John couldn't go, not now—and before he could second-guess himself, Sam pinioned John's hand where it was sliding off from his hip. He caught John's eyes in their reflection. "Stay," he breathed.

John's pupils were wide and blue and shocky, and then all at once, he sagged against Sam with a sigh of relief and pressed his face into his hair. "God, Sam," he murmured, and his arms crept around Sam's waist. "I didn't think-"

"You never said." Sam leaned back into his embrace. "You like me in this suit," he accused.

"I like you in everything," John replied, so absently sweet that Sam finally had to turn around and kiss him.

John was startled for a moment and then kissed back ferociously, his hands cradling the back of Sam's head to keep him in place. Sam made a noise and opened his mouth. Their tongues met, slick and desperate, and Sam thought about all the times he'd dreamt of doing this – late nights at the office when John looked utterly exhausted and had to be bullied into going home; how John could light up a room with the radiant secretive smiles that only Sam could coax out of him; John standing in the spotlight holding his audience in rapture with his vision of a better future while Sam imagined he might taste the heady fire of John's rhetoric if he pressed his lips there.

John broke away with a groan and then clamored close again to kiss Sam's cheek, his eyelid, along his temple. Sam grappled with the front of John's suit to undo a button or tease open a seam, anything to take apart his armor. "Maybe I should let you take me to pretentious dinners more often."

"You're nervous." John ran his fingernails along Sam's jaw where he had trimmed down his beard. "I'll be there beside you the whole time."

Sam's voice hiccupped as John's lips found the corner of his mouth again. "That's what I'm afraid of. They'll look at me, John, and they'll see someone else, the man I used to be before I met you. And you'll see it too, and…John, oh, I can't bear to disappoint you. God knows why you've come with me this far."

"You know that I would follow you wherever you led me," John answered. "And if the rest of the world banished you to the very edge of the earth, I would stand with you there."

"John, _fuck_ ," Sam hissed and kissed him again, let John crush him with his ironclad certainty. Their fingers met at Sam's belt buckle, and Sam fumbled with it for an eternity before he managed to tear the belt out of its loops.

John took advantage of his distraction to spin him back around to face the mirror so that Sam could finally see his own face, flushed and disheveled and helplessly turned on. John nosed between his stiff jacket collar and hairline to the stripe of exposed neck underneath and breathed against the skin. Sam shuddered at the sensation.

He bowed his head, urged John further along his neck. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you relax." John wheedled. He yanked Sam's shirt out of its clean tuck and plunged his hands underneath, sliding warm and invasive over Sam's abdomen. "You're too tense."

Sam's trousers had been tailored too skillfully to hide the state of the erection that was jutting against the cloth. He knew that John had noticed. A graze of teeth against his ear, and Sam gasped out, "We'll be late to the party."

John let out an awfully self-satisfied laugh. "They can't very well start without us." He pressed a kiss to the nape of Sam's neck, and then another. "Can I-" he started.

"Yes." Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes, _yes_ , whatever you want."

John exhaled sharply. "Hold onto the mirror," he said, and Sam grasped onto the sides with warm damp hands. This close, he could see his own blown-wide pupils and the curve of John's golden head where he was kissing a line up Sam's shoulder.

The sound of the zipper was shockingly loud in the silence. Sam could only watch as the vee of his trousers opened, revealing his new boxer briefs underneath. It was breathtakingly intimate this way, to see exactly what was being done to him while giving himself over entirely to John's direction.

"You wore them," John said, pleased, and thumbed at the waistband but seemed content to resume kissing into Sam's hair and resisted his hints to go further.

Sam hissed in fond exasperation. For all that John loved making grand gestures, he was the careful one, the immutable object to Sam's unstoppable force, and it was up to Sam to provide their momentum. Emboldened, he bunched his fingers in the briefs and began pulling them down till they exposed the jut of his hips, a dark line of hair.

"Sam, Sam, what did I ask you?" John scolded, almost laughing. Gently, he peeled Sam's hands away and guided them back around the mirror frame, and Sam had barely tightened his grip before John snapped his underwear the rest of the way down.

The sight of his bared cock in the mirror was startlingly obscene. Sam had never seen his own erection displayed to him like this, unapologetically aroused underneath his loose dress shirt, and the air conditioning raised goosebumps along his naked thighs. John was watching him with half lidded eyes, and all the breath left Sam's lungs as he gave his palm a slow languid lick.

"You're so impatient," John murmured. His hand skimmed downwards. "Is this what you want?"

Sam saw John's hand close around his cock before he even felt it. The touch was warm and good, familiar, something Sam had done to himself hundreds of times. Then John shifted his grip and pumped him once experimentally, and Sam lurched forward with a groan.

John was breathing hard over his shoulder. "Alright?"

"Nng, a little tighter- yes, _fuck_ , like that." Sam turned his face against his arm. He was clutching the mirror frame so hard that his fingers were going numb. "Oh my god."

"Don't look away," John sighed dreamily, and in their reflection his eyes were transfixed on his fingers moving over Sam's cock in long deft strokes. Sam shuddered and knew he was going to come embarrassingly soon from this, the sensory overload of John's touch, the sight of him between Sam's legs, and John's rapt face watching as Sam leaked precum into the cradle of his hand.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" John's breath wafted close to his ear, and his calm sure-footed voice was unbearably erotic. "You charged into my office to give me the worst dressing down I've ever heard about my company's carbon footprint, and how your ideas would change the world."

Sam's laugh turned into a gasp as John tightened his grip. "You should have called security. I sounded like a crazy person."

John hmmed against Sam's cheek. "I wanted you from that first moment."

Sam felt dizzy. "Fuck, John, you can't say something like that."

"Yes, I can," John replied harshly. His smooth cheek chafed against Sam's stubble in a delicious slide. "You were extraordinary. You made me want to become the kind of man you thought I could be."

"You were the only one who listened. No one else even…John, I'm not good at this," Sam confessed in a rush.

"You're doing fine," John replied wryly and slid a finger between Sam's balls.

Sam let out a quiet cry, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily. "No, not this. The dinner, socializing.  Everyone who rejected me will be there. You fit in with them, they- _oh_ \- they respect you. I’m not good at talking to people, not like you."

"Do you want me to talk to you?" John's voice was curiously light, surprised, but his white-knuckled hold on Sam's hip belied his arousal at the prospect.

" _John_."

"Do you?" John pressed, and finally he was beginning to look unraveled. "Do you want me to tell you what you do to me?"

 _Fuck_ , Sam thought deliriously. John was going to make him come, and Sam was still wearing half his clothes. "Show me," he said.

For a moment, John's hands were gone. Then he unzipped himself, rucked up the back of Sam's white pressed shirt, and jerked him backwards till they were flush together again. His cock was a warm solid line against Sam's ass, and Sam arched against him and then forward into his hand. John choked out Sam's name and thrust their hips together, his momentum pushing Sam's cock though his fist, and then Sam rocked back in turn, over and over again, till they established a hard fast rhythm, straining together towards completion.

"Beautiful man," John groaned. "If I had you in my bed, what I wouldn't do to you."

John's cock pressed hot and huge against him, and Sam was suddenly dazed by the idea of watching their reflection as John fucked him from behind. "We can," he started. "We could-"

John shook his head. "No, just like this. In this suit." His mouth dipped underneath Sam's shirt collar and _sucked,_ leaving a mark where it would later rub sweetly against the band of Sam's tie. "God, I love you in this suit. I like it when you wear things that belong to me." Sam's body tensed, strung tight. "If I had it my way, you wouldn't wear a thing that I hadn't bought you."

That did it. With a shout, Sam came messily in John's hand, his body crumpling forward in a boneless slump. John thrust a few more times before he came too with a soft grunt, splashing warm and wet against the small of Sam's back. Both of his arms wrapped around Sam's torso to bear his weight, and the two of them wobbled weak-kneed together, breathing hard.

"God, John." Sam's voice was hoarse, and John's hands twitched against his skin convulsively at his own name. Sam swallowed and tried again. In a small voice, he confessed, "John, I think I've…I ruined the suit."

John made a low satisfied noise and nuzzled the back of Sam's neck. "Good. I don't want anyone else to see you in these clothes but me."

"I don't think I can ever wear them out in public again." Sam tried to sound disgruntled and failed.

John chuckled and kissed Sam's cheek, a small sweet chaste thing. "We'll be so good together, the two of us," he promised, and Sam believed him. He thought about everything they could do together, be together. If John was a firm place to stand, then Sam was his fulcrum, and together they would move the world.

Suddenly, Sam was exhausted. His thighs quivered with the strain of bracing himself forward for so long, he was filthy, he needed a shower. He straightened and let John's arms fall away. "I need to get cleaned up. Again," he emphasized.

John gave him a rare unrepentant grin. It looked gorgeous on him. "How do you feel?"

Sam blew out a breath. "Relaxed," he admitted. "You could have just made me a drink."

"Mm, not as fun." John's gaze went behind them to the mini-bar and then fell on Sam's socked feet. "You need new shoes."

"No, I don't."

"Yes," John insisted. He lifted one of Sam's hands and fanned it out to thumb gently along the fine bones and veins underneath the skin. "And new gloves."

Sam's fingers ached sweetly from clutching the mirror, and he scowled back at John's reflection. "I'm not encouraging this, John. If I come home to find you've replaced my wardrobe, I'm taking scissors to everything."

"I would be disappointed if you didn't." John laced their fingers together and brought their joined hands to his lips to kiss across Sam's knuckles. "Put your clothes in the tub to soak. We'll have them cleaned. For now, you'll have to wear the tuxedo."

Sam balked. "I can't wear the tuxedo. You're not wearing a tuxedo, and you're the guest of honor."

John shrugged. "I'll change."

"We'll look ridiculous."

John tsked at him. "We're the main attraction. We can't look ridiculous. If anything, we can make other people feel underdressed."

Sam couldn't help grinning. He couldn't believe they would be off now to a mundane dinner to shake hands and make small talk, after what they had just done. "I don't know how to wear a tuxedo. Maybe you can help."

John's mouth twitched. "I think I've _helped_ enough."

"You can watch, then."

John laughed, and his reflection looked so pleased, so satisfied, that Sam couldn't help turning around to give him a kiss. "And later, if you behave," he murmured against John's mouth. "Maybe I'll let you help me take it off."

**Author's Note:**

> [Sam's suit](http://disordermagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/The-Kooples-Three-Piece-Suit-Jacket-%C2%A3390-Waistcoat-%C2%A3175-Trousers-%C2%A3175.jpg), a modern version of what he wears in episode 3.
> 
> Feel free to say hi on my tumblr at [deftmegalodon.](http://deftmegalodon.tumblr.com)


End file.
